Hola maestro. I’m trying to write you this e-mail while on vacation in Puerto Vallarta with Mayra and her boys. It seems that lately the universe does not want me to write these e-mails. I am spending my days here here among palm trees, with the waves the waves of the sea, and enveloped by the beauty of of an amazing woman who who loves me, but I just can’t feel satisfied unless I write you these damned e-mails and tell this story. Everything about my environment comes off like an idyllic distraction that prevents me from doing the things that are truly important in my life. It’s like I have another life that isn’t being lived, but is more real than the one I have here among the tourist resorts of Mexico. Today I only have a few minutes in this Airbnb to write you this e-mail. Sorry for not writing to you the next day as promised. We will see what I can manage to tell you in free moment moment I have today.
Okay, so I remember telling you that I would tell you about my experiences with Haley at the Motel Six. Keep in mind that there were thousands of details about Chaz that I didn’t mention to you. However, I think I have given a consistent and relatively complete idea of how things went with Chaz. I want to clarify, however, that Haley was present at all times during those conversations I was having with Chaz that I described in my past e-mail. I will now tell you about my interactions with her, but likewise, please understand that Chaz was around during all of this. he will only be mentioned incidentally here, though.
Haley was completely different from Chaz. She was Wiccan. Generally in America Wiccans are considered to be New Agers and hippies who pretend to be shamans. In fact, Chaz said specifically at one point, “she’s a witch.” I took it that Chaz, knowing my biblical perspective, wanted to motivate me to have some kind of animosity toward her as if we were in Massachusetts four hundred years ago at a witch trial. That is, he was a male warding another male off of his woman. That’s how I took it anyway. Thoug I also took it as a revelation that I was not exactly in the company of angels. As I said previously, Chaz would kind of say anything to throw me off.
When I asked Haley about her spirituality, I discovered that her identification as a Wiccan wasn’t exactly substantial. She basically wanted to smoke pot, loved nature, and was a feminist. So one could say that she wasn’t a truly dedicated Wiccan. However, this is sort of the deal with about 90% of Wiccans. It’s more of a social thing with the majority of them. So she was king of like most Wiccans in that she wasn’t a “true” Wiccan, and that she wasn’t an erudite master of complicated dogmas or deep philosophical concepts about spirituality. Wicca is more of a subculture than anything else. It has about as as much religion as any given community of Darquetos and the Goths.
This did not mean that she did not have a significant contribution to the bizarre spirituality that Chaz and I were bantering about. She also seemed to want to tempt me, but by more common and innocent means. She appeared to want to free me from “the chains of my morality,” assuming that I was a typical Christian, full of fear and shame, needing her help to accept himself. At least initially. Things would get really weird with Haley.
However, the first thing worthy of attention, and at the same time, the first difficulty, had to do with her gender. Of course, two men and a woman in a room at the Motel Six loaded with amphetamines can lead to more than one problem. I’m not sure exactly how it all started. Chaz and I had a philosophical discussion in which I made several points to him. Then Haley lay down on the bed in Chaz’s arms. I was in the other bed, but when we were all comfortable and relaxed, I could hear her say to Chaz, in a sweet girlish voice: “He knows something.” It piqued my curiosity. What could that mean?
I’ll lay it out. It could mean three things to me. First, Chaz and Haley could be scammers trying to steal my money, and Haley was afraid I might have figured out something. Second, Haley and Chaz were some kind of Illuminati or demons or demon-possessed people or something similar to what I had encountered during meth binges one and two, and Haley had noticed that I already suspected what the infernal and supernatural impulses were that inspired them. Finally, during the discussions between Chaz and me, I had possibly convinced her of my spiritual perspectives. That is, for once in my life, maybe someone was actually convinced that I had some idea about spiritual truth. That possibility, above all, held my attention.
Initially, Haley said a lot of things similar to Chaz. The flavor of their arguments were different: “You can be free!” “God just wants you to be happy!”
And yes, maestro, the fact that Haley was not an atheist like Chaz, and that she was also a woman, motivated me to trust her. I’m not forgetting that women can be the most ferocious hell dogs that the devil ever unleashed on humanity. But in Haley’s case, although she was not a white dove, she was also not a rapacious wolf dressed like sheep. Or at least was my initial impression.
She earned my trust. By countering the effect of Chaz. She didn’t specifically contradict him. But she came from a completely different part of the field. When she said to Chaz: “he knows something,” I interpreted the message in a religious way. She wanted to tell him that “he is convincing me of the truth.”
I was thrilled to think that. In this modern world, religion is a matter of birth and culture. In my entire life, I have not heard of more than five people who convert to Christianity or any religion for intellectual reasons. They usually do it for cultural reasons. For example, people convert to Judaism when they marry Jews. Others adopt religion under desperate circumstances. For example because of drug or alcohol problems, family losses, divorces, or financial catastrophes. Talking to someone about God or Jesus never has an effect if the listener has no emotive need to do so. Normal people readily admit that they don’t know anything about quantum mechanics or that they don’t know how to drive a stick shift. But, absolutely everyone believes that they already know everything they need to about God and the point of all existence.
So when Haley said that I knew something, I wanted to do something to help her learn more and possibly make changes in her perspectives. So I told her that Chaz and I had opposite perspectives. I also said that if she wanted to get out of her life and take a different path, I could help her, even financially.
However, the fact that I said these things added a miserable dimension to the time the three of us spent together: jealousy. Of course, in our culture, a man cannot love a woman without the issue of sex and romantic relationships coming up. Don’t forget my experience with Noah. If I talk to her, it must be because I am hunting her, and if I love her, it can only be with my dick. And if I love her with my heart and my dick, that must be the worst thing that could ever happen to anyone. No one would ever think, “he’s old, she is young, but they have real love, so we’ll just accept the circumstance,” Likewise, nobody would ever think to say, “now now, Jonathan, she’s young. Love her all you want, but keep your dick out of it, okay?” I don’t want to devolve into a tired soap box, but you know my perspective on these things. My complaint that everything always reduces to some jealous sexual paranoia was going to cover the week with an ominous cloud.
Do not forget, teacher, I use the word “love” in its original sense: when the other is more important than oneself. “Falling in love” means having a desire for someone. It’s something completely different, as I have explained previously. But when I wanted to show Haley my love and offered to help her, both of them, both Chaz and Haley, thought I wanted to steal a female of the herd from the alpha. Don’t forget the situation with Frank and Carolina on the first excursion into the world of methamphetamine. It was like a record stuck on repeat. Chaz had been consistently maintaining since the day he tried to sell me like a whore that I was a woman trapped in a man’s body. But that didn’t stop him from thinking that his new retired army captain female friend trapped in a man’s body wanted to steal his girl.
As for me, I was still decimated and confused by the Noah van Ouwerkerk affair. In fact, maestro, I’m still confused by Electrochemical Girl, and she still prevents me from romantic relations with women. I don’t know if everything I want to tell you about Noah will fit into this story. I’m just telling you that at that time I was absolutely not looking for a girlfriend. Although it is true that I did have in mind that Haley could eventually be something of a girlfriend, if fate so ordained, but quite obviously I was too much of a mess to just go taking some other dude’s girl for my own. I’d have to be friends.
And at that time, I promise you, I just wanted to help her escape her hotel life. I wanted to be her friend, nothing more and nothing less. But I offered to actually take care of her. Financial support to help her. Was the fact that she was a woman a part of my decision to make that offer? Probably. She did have a kindness and beauty about her, and I am a man and do have a sense of chivalry. And it certainly is not common for a man to offer this kind of help to a woman without wanting to make her a part of his herd. At least that’s the way the world tends to operate.
Just contemplating this sad state of affairs makes me want to offer this same kind of help to Chaz if I ever see him again. But you know what he would think if I did? I’ll tell you: “Jonathan my gay/transexual friend must want to suck my dick.” That’s what he would think. I’m sure. I’ve been called gay before for caring about males. Maestro, the people of this world don’t even comprehend the concept of people just caring for other people.
Anyway, as to our uncomfortable situation about jealousy in the hotel, a good chunk of the foundation oof the problem was that I told Haley too frankly that in my opinion, her relationship with Chaz would make her life more difficult. I said it in front of Chaz as well, very clearly and directly. Yes, I was high, maestro. And I am very frank to begin with. And don’t forget that I saw all of this as an account of a confrontation between a servant of God and a demon, or a man possessed by them. There had already been instances of animosity between Chaz and me, albeit within the context of existential debates and discussions. Now the conflict was not esoteric, but something more primal. Not only were we men of rival philosophies, but we were men competing for a woman. In my view I was fighting for her soul. I think in the view of everyone else, I was fighting for her pussy. Be damned that everybody but me thought I was gay or transsexual or something.
Maestro, I hate that attitude of nothing but base interactions between en and women. The fact that I was a child of light and Chaz a child of darkness was irrelevant to everyone but me. Just the fact that I was a man and Haley was a woman mattered. Imagine the irony, maestro. Harold van Ouwerkerk is a super moral Christian who believes that women should not talk to men. On the other hand, Chaz was a heroin dealer who believed that women should not talk to men. Harold and Chaz agreed that it was more important to separate men and women than to help someone else. Herd dynamics took the forefront. Learning Hebrew or speaking philosophically about God took a backseat.
Maestro, for me it is more than obvious: the devil does not want anyone to talk to me. Whether they are Christian or Jew or atheist, or whether they are conservative or liberal, or whether they are upstanding civil servants or drug dealers. They will always find a reason for me not to talk. And as a finally note, I want to highlight the general tendency of humanity to not understand the fundamental concept of love. I will explain.
Remember, the main difference between Chaz and Haley was that Chaz and I had adversarial conversations. From opposite perspectives. While Haley told him: “he knows something.”
Maestro, it is very, very, very rare to hear from anyone that Jonathan Bailey knows something . Because nobody wants to know anything. Everyone is busy and distracted. Nobody has any interest in anybody who might know anything about the condition of life. So for me, when someone wants to hear what I have to say, then it makes me want to talk. I think it is a positive thing. I believe that I can help people who want to hear thinsgs, so I want to help them!
The concept of approaching someone just to help is completely incomprehensible to ordinary people. At least in my case. I am sure a nun with a can of soup in her hand who doesn’t know particularly much about life will be welcomed with open arms, but not someone with knowledge. In order to communicate with people, you’re going to have to have a role: if you are the boyfriend, you can. If you are the therapist, with certificates, certificates and degrees, then you can talk to someone. If you are the acquaintance, friend, relative or husband, too. But the stranger? Never! The idea of someone talking to another person in a that they don’t have a vested interest in is inconceivable. This is why people assume that a man talking to a woman he doesn’t know must want sex. He knows nothing about her except how she looks and that she has a vagina. And there is just no way he can want to talk to her just because.
I have another story for you. On Facebook there is a section: “people you may know.” Someone with the last name “Arroyo,” a woman, suddenly appeared there in my facebook account. This is the same name as my girlfriend, Mayra Arroyo. In fact, Both the woman and I had Mayra as a mutual friend. So I sent her a friend request on Facebook. Later, I asked Mayra who the woman was with the same last name that I had found on Facebook. Mayra told me she was her cousin. I told her that I had sent her a friend request and she told me that, for the people in her family, when a man sends a friend request to a woman, it is only to flirt. Her cousin never accepted the Friend request, and I eventually withdrew the application. Mayra told me that she didn’t think I should have contact with women in her family. Now Mayra was different. She wasn’t saying I shouldn’t have contact with them because I was an evil man and men shouldn’t do that. She knew that I was just a friendly guy, and that the people in her conservative Luz del Mundo religious family would eat me like wolves.
For me that insanity is just too sad to be believed. It’s something evil and satanic. I’ve already told you that I believe this phenomenon is a tool of the devil to prevent people from communicating. But my specific point right now is to convey that the conservative Christian Harold and the drug dealer Chaz acted in basically the same way. I’ve chided Harold as a villain in my story, but here I want to talk of the villainy Chaz and Haley, that the progressive and free world of drugs and parties and a world without the obligations of God ultimately doesn’t give you any more freedom than the churches of Harold. Jealous boyfriends still run everything no matter where you are, whether sitting in the pews of a church or on a bed in a Motel Six with a meth pipe in your hand.
The brass tax is that we live in a world where a man does not love his neighbor, where no one cares about a stranger, and you will never find a soul who can love his enemy. Friends are my friends. Fuck the rest. At the time, Chaz and Haley couldn’t offer me more freedom than the churches or synagogues in Israel. They couldn’t give me real love either. But hey, I don’t want these comments to be like a complaint against Harold or Chaz. What I want is to express my disappointment with the world in general, since it seems that the simple fact of helping a stranger is something that seems to belong to another reality altogether, having no place on our current planet. As a man, if you happen to help someone, absolutely no one is going to believe that you really want to help. Undoubtedly, a man cannot have other intentions than to have sex, and in order to achieve this, he will naturally be willing to steal daughters or girlfriends. This is how the world works.
Needless to say, the interaction with Chaz took on new accents and flavors. There was a new group dynamic. This contributed significantly to reinforcing my concept of servant of God against servant of the devil . Of course, the two of us lacked no animosity.
However, I want to tell you a little more about my experiences with Haley. As I wrote to you above, she and I got along well. Though over time, things got stranger and stranger between us. Suddenly she told me that her name was not Haley, but Helen. I didn’t know whether to believe her, nor did I understand why she wanted to do something like that, but I figured it was all part of Chaz’s plan to confuse me. Chaz would of course insist that everything was her plan.
In my mind, the name “Helen” has always been related to Helen of Troy. I didn’t mention any of this to her, so Haley never knew that her real name made me think of epics from the dawn of civilization, or great wars caused by the beauty of a woman.
This information will be very important later. First, I want to clarify that she was saying things similar to what Chaz said: that reality is a perception, and that it is possible to modify it through the power of the mind. She would say things to the effect that to change the shape of the body it is necessary to practice for a while, at least at the beginning. Before becoming someone else, for example, you need to understand how your desired body feels and functions. Switching from male to female would be especially difficult, for example, but it would be possible, because men and women are different formations of the same biological structures.
I tried to transmute my body with her and Chaz, but, as I told you in my previous e-mail, I was unsuccessful. I assumed that God did not agree that I should experience this power, since it was all sorcery to him. I never felt that I had his divine sanction. Haley told me that my fear of disobeying God was my weakness. She told me that fear and excitement create a very similar chemistry in the brain. One serves to protect the self, and the other serves to generate reality. To produce the desired effect, then, I had to leave doubts and fill myself with the creative energy that certainty grants: Believing is creating. Ironically, she and Chaz did nothing but sow doubt, especially in any area connected to God. Or, at least, to what I understand by God: the ultimate source of all things which is represented by the Messiah Jesus, the almighty king who is in heaven and who demands my obedience.
Shortly after all these conversations took place, but after having offered Haley help, the three of us decided to go eat. Near the hotel there was a Thai restaurant. Along the way, Chaz was saying incomprehensible things, arbitrary numbers and mathematical formulas that didn’t make any sense to me. I don’t know if he was trying to impress Haley or me with display of false genius, or if I was just losing my mind, or if Chaz was playing some other trick in order to make me think I was losing my mind.
Haley told me that both of them, she and Chaz, were very old, and that they could be anyone they wanted. They hoped that I could be a member of their group. I tried to ask her about the things she was saying to me. Characters like the Anunnaki and other supernatural beings came to mind. What Haley said far exceeded expectations one might have of a pothead hippie. Do you remember that I mentioned to you that Haley tried to change her name to Helen? I think my perception of them as ancient beings had already started before, but specifically when she told me that her name was Helen, which referred me to Troy, this feeling became stronger. Without the possibility of knowing that by revealing her name to me she would impose on my mind the archetype of a woman from Classical Greece. This seemed to fit a narrative that she and Chaz were some kind of ancient beings with magical powers who lived forever, be coming whoever they wanted at any time.
At the restaurant, Chaz was hostile to me. I hadn’t slept for a few days; nor had I eaten. I wasn’t hungry, but I ate because they wanted to eat. Suddenly, Chaz began to present himself as an expert in gastronomy. I can usually do these things too. I am an analyst. I can describe the world in interesting ways. But at that moment everything I tried tasted like paper. I had ordered chicken curry and a Tom Kha Kai soup . They are usually succulent dishes, but at the time it tasted as bland as if I were shoving a napkin down my throat. Chaz did not miss the opportunity to ridicule me and treat me like an idiot unable to enjoy his dinner.
It was driving me crazy. Yes, maestro, my conversations with the Illuminati during my second amphetamine stint with Melinda, or my running around the parking lot of the Fashion Square Mall in Scottsdale, Arizona, chasing the ghost of a Dutch teenager during the first drug episode, these things must have more than enough evidence that I had been losing my sanity for many months. But this time it was different. As time went by, my ability to think diminished.
Back at the hotel, the conversations got a little weird. Haley and I continued our cordiality. Maybe too much. In fact, I think she really liked the idea of leaving Chaz and didn’t realize that my intentions were purely spiritual and platonic. The misunderstanding even led to an argument with Chaz in which he told her that she had to choose between one of the two of us men.
My reality became more and more a matter of jealousy and men and women who did not seek anything other than sex and self-centeredness. I’ve described plenty of this disappointment above, but things took a steep dive into the weird when Haley came out the the bathroom at one point and declared, “We are agents.”
In shock, I asked, “agents of what?”
In the thread of a whisper, she replied, “If I tell you, they will kill me.”
Chaz apparently heard something, because he wanted to know what Haley had told me. I was confused. I don’t remember how she answered him because at that moment my mind was on fire. Don’t forget about my experiences with Melinda, Marcus, and the black guy from my second meth event, in which Marcus behaved like some kind of magician or someone with superpowers who could read my mind, and said that people could alter reality, and that they could even live to extreme ages.
During this visit, I had been talking to Chaz as if he were a demon who wanted to teach me black magic. Could it be that Chaz and Haley were agents of the same Illuminati organization? Was it possible that his sole purpose was to confuse me and change my perspective from a theist in the service of the One to that of an atheist at the orders of the Prince?
It seems that my outer world was a reflection of my fundamental psychological condition. Everything was a war between good and evil, God and Satan, the Illuminati and the Knights of Light. Although true love and sexual relations were also involved, without forgetting the sexual criminality that usually accompanies the interaction between men and women.
I had no idea what to do about the statement from Haley. I just felt like I couldn’t ask more until I was alone with Haley, which, of course, Chaz wouldn’t allow. And I was so high, I wouldn’t have the first idea about how to get a moment alone with Haley. In that state, frankly, the bullshit between them didn’t matter to me at all. I really wanted to know was what the substance of reality was. I was stepping out of a known, rational world into one of fundamental, subconscious nightmares. I was in a room of a Motel Six with Illuminatis, agents from other dimensions, and demons, stubbornly defending the idea that objective reality exists and that it is the product of infinite intelligence.
Days later we decided to go eat again. This time to a breakfast restaurant. I did not know if I was on this planet or in a dimension between the earth and some other world. In my opinion, I was not talking to Chaz and Haley, but to infernal spirits or agents of the Illuminati. I don’t remember much about the conversations. I had reached my limit. Casually over breakfast, Chaz to me how leave my body and float as a disembodied spirit, able to observe everything.
At some point I told him I wanted to go out for a cigarette, and the three of us went out to smoke in front of the restaurant. Then Haley pointed to the adjoining building. You won’t believe it, maestro, but it sure wasn’t a church or a lawyer’s office or a dentist’s office. It was a fucking psychic reading and fortune teller’s shop. The sign read: “Reach Your Potential Through New Levels of Consciousness.” Haley just pointed and we all stared.
Then Haley said, “Come on. I want to show you something.” We crossed the parking lot to get closer. On the floor were a woman’s panties, very old and dirty. It seemed like they had been there a long time. “Read the the label”, she told me.
I looked at the panties and noticed the label. Sometimes people write their names there. I could read that it said: “King,” perhaps the owner’s last name. But in that context the name meant so much more. The message was very clear: I could reach my full potential through the development of my consciousness. The whole transsexual, hatred of masculinity psychological trope that had been threaded through everything was expressed perfectly by the fact that my destiny was written on the inside of an old pair of panties: I was the king of reality.
I immediately rejected the message. I told them that I was not a king, that there was none other than the Messiah. That I was one of his servants. Completely at my cognitive limit, I said with resignation that I could not longer continue in this world, and that it was time for me to leave. They told me they agreed. Haley said me that guys like me don’t come back to this world when they leave. I just replied, “okay” in resignation. I asked them where I should go to make my exist. Haley told me that she didn’t know, that the place wasn’t important. I said, “Okay. Bye.”
I walked about fifteen meters away, to a patch of gravel not far from the window the the drive thru of the restaurant. I swear I felt like all of reality would just vanish at any moment. But nothing happened. Many thoughts flowed through my mind. I saw Chaz and Haley in the distance, just standing there looking at me. I was afraid of the unknown. I thought of my daughter and Chloe. And also of Noah. Disappointed, I concluded that I couldn’t help anyone. Nor would there be anyone who could understand my experiences. I didn’t understand them myself. But even if i could understand and import my experiences to anyone, they wouldn’t have time to listen to me. People are too busy trying to survive and to to escape their problems to pay any attention to what anything means. People like me who look for meaning in things and try to tell them about it aren’t worth anyone’s time. People would rather stay busy at work or school, or perhaps engaged with family or other things without giving attention to the spiritual significance of anything. Also, people were just simply afraid of me. They shunned the old man that I am as nothing more than a rapist. The dangerous and crazy Jonathan Bailey. The delirious shepherd, whose words made those who listened feel the inquietudes of standing at the ledge of a cliff in a horizon of darkness.
I stood there in doubt, fear, and dismay, but nothing happened. The heavens did not open. I was not carried on high by fiery chariots. Angels did not descend by the ladder of Jacob to raise me aloft. Rather than comprehend my complete detachment from sanity, I concluded that God didn’t want to take me home that day.
Deep in thought, I walked over to where Haley and Chaz were. With his usual exquisite cynicism, Chaz told me, “Hey, we’re still here. What do we do? Shall we go to the Motel Six? “
With that, what could anyone do but go back to the Motel Six, maestro?
Back in the room, the three of us continued our conversations. They were disappointed in me because I didn’t realize that I could alter reality. Haley asked Chaz if they should give me glasses. I don’t remember what his answer was. I also did not understand the question. I didn’t really get the sense of much of anything. It was very difficult for me to understand anything.
Haley put on pajamas and sat in front of the mirror to put on makeup. I was standing looking at her while talking to her. She told me she was going to give me some glasses She bid me to fetch them for her. Without consciously having any idea where they were, I just picked up a pair of glasses. I had had no vision problems, but I agreed to her request without question. I found them immediately and put them on as soon as they appeared in my hand. The first thing I saw was Haley, who was still of her same age, but was now the height of an eight year-old girl. It was more than incredible. As if Alice in Wonderland had drunk a shrinking potion! She wasn’t like a real dwarf, a person with the ailment of dwarfism, a condition where long bones don’t grow to full length, with short arms and legs but a normal-sized head and torso. She just miniaturized somehow. Like Elijah Wood in an installment of Lord of the Rings. There was just Haley in her pajamas. But tiny. She barely came up to my waist! She was dwarfed by the chair she was sitting in. Just kicking her feet while putting on lipstick
I asked Haley why she was so small. In a spoiled child’s voice, she told me that she simply wanted to be small.
I had to touch her to know if what my eyes saw was real. To my surprise, my hand confirmed the vision. I touched her shoulder, then her waist, and finally one of her knees. Every time I touched her, she told me, “don’t touch me.” At first she said it softly, but when I touched her knee she yelled, “stop it!” As if she were an elementary school niece niece was a lusty pedophilic uncle.
Of course I was in awe of it all. To begin with, my hang up about being treated like a sex predator had absolutely reach its zenith. My deepest fears had become reality. And I could do nothing but marvel and desire to understand. Was the vision I had objective reality? Or was my entire sensory experience generated by my mind? I can only say that according to the world outside of me, it appeared to be the case that I was an old pervert trying to touch a little girl in her pajamas. But what was a girl in pajamas doing putting on makeup in front of an old man at a Motel Six?
I didn’t touch her anymore and took off the glasses. They apparently caused hallucinations, at the very least.
Although I knew I was high, I could not convince myself that all of this was a result of drugs. It seemed to me that my personal self and the whole world around me had together become a profound psychotropic scene. I got the idea that at the bedrock of my understand of reality, if one plumbed my psychology to its uttermost abyssal depths, one would find a love for God and some sort of grotesque sexual issue. This is strange, maestro, since I have never had a problem with sex. My sex life had been pretty normal, I think. Modesty was never a feature of my sexual activity, I must admit. I do believe in the Bible and that God’s intention was for a man to be united with a woman forever. But we don’t live in the Garden of Eden, and meeting the original standard isn’t always the best idea.
In short, as I always tell you, I am not a moralist and I have no problem with sex. But, based on the revelation of these drug experiences, it seemed that sex was a fundamental issue for my psyche. Something about the celestial unity with a woman had been sullied in my soul.
But there I was, in the middle of this fucking nightmare of drugs, demons and psychological entanglements of sex, gender issues, and now even visions of pedophilia. And through it all, I continually y referenced the notion that these drug dealers gave me exactly the same shit that the Harold van Ouwerkerk did: jealousy, shame, and unjust prosecution.
But this lesson was not the end of the experience. My descent into madness continued to such a degree that I give it a conclusive meaning even now.
Haley asked Chaz to help her with something on her head. I don’t know exactly what. I think Haley had some kind of sore. Or possibly there were worms in her hair. I honestly don’t know. I was so high I didn’t even know where my own head was. Chaz pulled up a chair in the bathroom and sat down behind her to preen though her hair like a mother baboon pulling beetles off of her cubs, haley sat on the floor in front of him.
The scene horrified me. I panicked. It seemed to me that Chaz’s fingers were jabbing into her skull. It was a bit violent. Haley insisted that Chaz help her, but to me it was like he was killing her. I demanded he stop with a scream. They both told me I was crazy. Maestro, I was obviously crazy. But the way that they expressed this dismay was itself interesting.
Haley was very disappointed in my fear and my limits. She suggested that I take dimethyltryptamine, commonly known as DMT. It’s the most powerful psychotropic in the world. It is the active ingredient in ayahuasca, a drug used by shamans in Mexico and South America. They say that it produces lucid dreams and that the brain has the same experience of being born and dying.
Maestro, if someone is looking through your hair and a third party starts screaming that they are killing you, you’re going to think that person is crazy, right? So if your reaction to this disturbance to recommend to the madman to take the most powerful hallucinogen ever discovered by humanity? Do you see how the weird transcends the weird? There is a sense in which you can say that an incredible shrinking woman treating me like a molesting uncle is weird. But the recommendation that a situation warranted more drug use is to me absolutely otherworldly.
But what could I do but read about this drug? DMT is present in our body and in the environment. It is the substance that the brain produces when we have dreams, but in high concentrations it is so toxic that the body eliminates it quickly, before it affects the central nervous system. For this reason, shamans mix it with other drugs which result in the concoction ayahuasca, which can produce less extreme hallucinations for a few hours. It is also possible to smoke dimethyltryptamine or pure DMT, with a powerful effect lasting ten minutes with very intense hallucinations.
Haley tried to explain the drug to me. She even read me an article that made reference to beings from other dimensions and levels of consciousness. It didn’t sell me on the drug.
Maestro, I promise you that if I had taken that drug, I would not be here writing anything to you. Surely I would be in some mental institution in a state of absolute dementia. Did Haley consciously want to destroy my mind? Where had this idea come from?
Chaz himself suggested I go ahead with it in agreement, perhaps to amuse himself with the spectacle of getting rid of a Jonathan who persisted in his theism. We talked about it several times. It’s actually funny, but many times I forgot the acronym and referred to DMT as “DMS.” I forgot te meaning of the acronym several times, and asked Chaz what DMS stood for, he slyly said, “Dangerous Meth Substitute.”
According to Chaz, I didn’t need drugs. He reminded me that I had not taken drugs in many days, a fact of which I was completely unaware. Frankly I had no idea what day it was, how long I had been there, when the last time I had eaten or slept was. For Chaz, the whole discussion about DMT or different drugs to reach a certain level of consciousness was just a joke. Drugs were only a means of access, and I was already there. I just needed to let go, according to him. At least that was my interpretation of his perspective. But I was getting to the point of complete cognitive failure.
When I declined her invitation to take DMT, Haley became very frustrated. After all, Chaz had a point: I didn’t need to get high to better understand reality.
Things continued to get weirder, if such a thing were even possible. My outer world was a mirror of my inner world, filled with the presence of God, the devil, and illicit sex. I must have gone without sleep for gong on a week. I couldn’t think.
The next thing I remember is talking to Haley again in front of the mirror, telling her that it was all so weird, and that I was so crazy that I couldn’t imagine going back to my old life after experiencing all those things. I didn’t know if I was in a dream or on another planet, if I was sensing anything accurately, or if I was still high. I asked Haley how I could get back to my rational world. If I was already sober and Chaz was right, and apparently all of this wasn’t just a drug thing. How could I ever go back to being Jonathan Bailey? She replied that she was not sure, that they might have to find some kind of an implant for me.
Maestro, in my experience, the only people who talk about implants are Scientology people or those who talk of alien abductions. Yet this reference to aliens contains a spiritual aspect for me. For many years, I have maintained a theory that the Antichrist at some point would pose as an alien being who would come to protect the human race against the alien invasion of Jesus the Messiah and his army of angels. Frankly, if the Messiah with his angels appeared in clouds as the New Testament describes, it would not look much different than the images that movies have shown us for decades about alien invaders scouring the earth.
Further, I remember seeing a documentary on HBO about Scientology, in which it was said that in the early versions of the more advanced courses in Scientology, the founder of the movement, L. Ron Hubbard, said that he was the Antichrist. Faced with the disappointment and scandal among the followers, the heads of Scientology had to change the content of these courses.
Scientology maintains that human souls are a race of extraterrestrials called Thetans, who were imprisoned in human bodies with no memory of their original lives. In each one the “R6 Implant” was placed, the function of which was to erase their past experiences, including the trauma of having lost their material bodies 75 million years ago.
And there I was, Jonathan Bailey, talking to the Wiccan Haley and the drug lord Chaz, two demons who had been teaching me to alter reality via my mind, explaining to me through a name written on the label of dirty panties on the ground in front of a psychic store promising expanded consciousness, that I was the source and the king of reality, and now Haley was proposing to provide me with an implant in order to re-enter the world of sanity.
God. Satan. The lover of a Dutch teenager. The Antichrist. Implants. Reality as the creation of the mind. Perversion. The hatred of masculinity. Aliens. Pedophilia. God damn.
Maestro, I cannot imagine a more perfect destruction of a human being. In fact, it couldn’t be a coincidence. It had to be an attack. Think about this. Human identity is a ring of concentric circles. At the center is consciousness itself. Then we have concept of self as male or female. Further outward we have the desire to connect with others. Then we have less central features of identity such as nationality, language, profession. It seemed to me that all of this attention to gender and sexuality and spirituality was some sort of concerted effort to ruin me at the most fundamental levels of identity imaginable.
Even my fundamental sense of myself as a distinct being was assaulted by the concept that all reality was just my imagination, and that I was the product of implants.
I felt like a victim. Like the unfortunate target of an assault orchestrated by infernal forces that, using ideas of aliens and diabolical philosophy, inflicted terror and confusion on my soul. Yes, maestro, I understand that I took drugs, and I take responsibility for the consequences, but this was far from being a simple drunken night of vomiting and pissing my pants. It wasn’t even anything more intense such as having an accident while driving intoxicated. I’m lucky none of that happened. Those situations involve serious consequences such as loss of life or limb. But this, master, this was something that he absolutely could not understand. It was a destruction of the mind and of personal identity. I knew I was at the edge of a precipice.
I said to Haley, “I have to go to a hospital. Take me to a hospital immediately.”
At first, she and Chaz tried to convince me not to go. Chaz warned me to be careful of those who solve people’s problems by depriving them of their freedom. He was right in some senses, but I don’t think either of them had any idea whatsoever what was happening to me. It was obvious to me that without the help of professionals my sanity would be gone forever.
They asked me which hospital I wanted to go to. I told them the veteran hospital. Again Chaz was at the wheel of my car. Or rather, at the wheel of the car that the insurance company had lent me while they were fixing the other one, which Chaz had abandoned on the road after his own adventure.
During the ride in the car the colors around me were exaggerated and changing. The sky, the clouds, everything was very colorful and beautiful. Upon entering the car, my phone connected to the audio and the stereo began to play the songs from my Spotify. Haley asked me to do something, because apparently the same song played over and over again: Let it Happen by Tame Impala. I couldn’t figure out how to change anything or turn the phone off, so we just listened to that song over and over while we drove.
I could hear Chaz, quite upset, wondering aloud to Haley: “why won’t he die?”
This question and the lyrics of the song confirmed to me that I was really dying. Anyway, I asked Chaz if I was dying. Before dying I wanted to know what his answer would be.
He responded with another question: “Do you have any idea what we’ve given you?”
I didn’t say anything else. Everything to me was absolutely psychedelic. Chaz still wanted to sow doubt and confusion, and the things he said were incredible.
They didn’t take me to the veterans hospital. I do not know why. They took me to a hospital called Aurora Ceenter. Chaz stayed in the car while Haley walked me to the front desk. Of course, there were a lot of people there, and the excellent healthcare system in the United States determined that I was not a priority, so I had to wait a long time in the waiting room, absolutely out of my mind. The hospital ultimately did a lot for me, but for now I think I am going to have to tell the story of my experiences in the hospital in another e-mail.
Here I will only say that upon entering the waiting room, after my check-in, I could no longer walk or tell up from down. So Haley laid me like a child on the floor in front of a waiting room chair. She smiled at me and wanted to know if I would be alright. I looked up into her eyes and told her I was okay. She smiled, gave me a sweet hug, and left the hospital.